


Knowledge of the Occult

by Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated



Series: Fifty Three Fridays [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic, but mainly just idiots, mutual simping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:13:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated/pseuds/Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated
Summary: Enjolras does something stupid for the camp talent show, but really it's just an excuse for me to write mutual simping.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Fifty Three Fridays [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099091
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Knowledge of the Occult

**Author's Note:**

> It's been three weeks because finals and then I was moving, but I'm BACK!!!! Happy Fluff Friday!

“Enjolras,  _ no.” _

“But on the other hand, Enjolras yes?”

“No, I refuse to stand off to the side of the camp talent show and do magic for you so that you can show off to a bunch of small children!”

Enjolras’s shoulders slumped. “But R, please? I can’t think of anything to do, and you’re a really good witch, and all you ever do is play guitar for them! They eat that shit up, sure, but I don’t have any useful skills!”

“Yes, I know, and the best parts of my summers are the parts where, for one glorious afternoon, I can do things you can’t; namely, charm children with my not-camp-related skills.” Grantaire flips through his chord binder again. “I haven’t even figured out what I’m playing, yet.”

Enjolras sighs, draping himself across the table and looking up at Grantaire. “Please? I just want to impress them  _ once! _ You could go out there and do seemingly impossible things, why don’t you take advantage of it?”

Grantaire huffs and puts his guitar aside. He flicks his wrist, lifting Enjolras up enough to pull his binder out from under him. “Enjolras, I am a witch all day, every day; is it really so odd that I might want to take a break from it for five minutes and just be someone  _ normal? _ Go ask Courfeyrac, he’s more likely to be willing to help you.”

* * *

Courfeyrac was too busy to help much, it turned out, but  _ Combeferre _ was willing.

Neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac had much magic to them, not like Grantaire, who was full to bursting with it. That turned out to be their downfall.

* * *

Enjolras called Grantaire in the middle of the night.

“What, Apollo?”

“If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?”

“What the fuck, Enjolras? How am I supposed to know?”

Combeferre spoke up. He must be on speaker. “You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “You wouldn’t be trapped. It might take some effort or help to lift you up, but no, you wouldn’t be trapped.”

Enjolras made a noise of relief. “That’s good.”

Grantaire sat bolt upright. “What did you do.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you?”

Combeferre answered after a moment when Enjolras didn’t. “We’re in the house. Courfeyrac is here too. Say hello, Courfeyrac.”

“Hello, Courfeyrac.”

Combeferre audibly facepalmed. “I hate you so much.”

Grantaire hung up and threw on some pants, running over the grass between the staff cabin and the little farmhouse barefoot and shirtless. He shouldered open the door, looking around frantically. He spotted Enjolras sitting on the couch and rushed over.

“I’m sorry, you did your stupid puppet show dance with  _ voodoo dolls?” _

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both look away, ashamed. Enjolras is staring at the myriad of tattoos on Grantaire’s chest. He snaps his fingers. “Enjolras. Pay attention. Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How dangerous?”

He closes his eyes and exhales magic into the room, and when he opens them, he looks for the knots tied in Enjolras’s aura. He reaches out and catches one in his hand. The little glowing ball is pulsing slightly. He gently picks it apart.

He could snap it, cut the knots out and be done with it, but that would leave Enjolras drained and aching, and however upset he is that they’ve been so stupid, he can’t do that to Enjolras.

Enjolras is watching him, enraptured. “What are you doing? What’re you holding?”

Grantaire unravels the knot, lets the energy slip through his fingers lightly and back to Enjolras. “It’s basically a bit of your aura. You tied it to the doll, so I’m untying it.”

Combeferre tilts his head, frowning. “Why can  _ we _ see it?”

“Using the Sight for things like this gives me a headache and double vision for hours. I could just snap these, cut them off—” he gently tugs another knot towards him to work on it, “That I could do fast enough to avoid the headache and such, but it would leave him weak and aching. This is a lot more effort, but nobody has to suffer much tomorrow.”

(It’s a lie, he’ll be off balance for days, but not for the use of his magic. For holding this extension of Enjolras’s being in his hand. It’s soft and gentle, and it responds to his touch like it wants to hold onto him, and Grantaire is sure it’s just because his magic is familiar feeling, and Enjolras is in discomfort, but his heart isn’t going to survive this.)

He pulls the last (and worst) tangle to him and Enjolras makes a noise of pain.

Grantaire looks up at him in alarm, but Enjolras waves him on, pale. “That one feels… I can feel it.” His breathing is labored.

Grantaire examines it. “It’s the anchor point. Combeferre, is there any honey in the kitchen? Scratch that, honey, water, rum, a cinnamon stick, whole cloves, a lemon. Also a mug.”

Enjolras looks at him incredulously. “You’re making a drink at a time like this?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “For you, yeah. Trust me.”

Combeferre brings him what he asked for, and Grantaire struggles for a moment. Every time he moves the hand holding the anchor point, Enjolras hisses in pain, so he makes the drink one handed. He presses his hand over the top of the mug, once it’s done, and ignores the way the steam burns his palm in order to finish the spell. When he’s done, the drink is almost glowing, and he hands it to enjolras, heedless of the burn on his palm.

“Mind your tongue, it’s hot.”

He waits for Enjolras to take a sip, blinking on the Sight for a moment to watch the golden glow of the spell start to settle into Enjolras, then blinks it back off again, and gently starts in on the anchor point.

It takes him nearly an hour, and he’s exhausted by the time he’s done, but he manages to untangle the knot, and he pulls from it a small red burr of magic. He crushes it, and Enjolras gasps in a breath.

“Oh my god, I can breathe again.” He stumbles to standing and puts a hand on Grantaire’s bare shoulder, still on the ground where he’d been working.

Grantaire smiles at him and sways to his feet. He takes a single step before he stumbles into something, dizzy.

Someone guides him to the couch, and he sits down, then spots the doll itself and curses. “You didn’t even consider what you were making it out of,  _ wow.” _ He glares around at Enjolras and Combeferre. “You’re lucky that Enjolras has no innate power. If you’d done something like this to someone who had even the dimmest spark of it, you could have killed someone. No fucking wonder it was so difficult to unlink.”

He tears open the doll holding up the hay, showing it to Combeferre. “Straw is hollow gold, basically. Over time it could have drained a witch dry—killed them to bring itself to life, turn itself to solid gold. He hands a piece to Combeferre. “As it is, some of it is gold from trying to drain  _ me _ when I touched the anchor.”

He yawns. “This is gonna  _ suck _ tomorrow morning.”

Enjolras puts a hand on Grantaire’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Rest.” He gently pushes Grantaire back onto the couch, grabbing the blanket off of the back and smoothing it over him.

Grantaire is asleep in seconds.

Enjolras kisses his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the hoes, as usual! (Links to the discord at the end of other things in this series.)


End file.
